Left Behind
by BluSkyy
Summary: "You go on ahead." Faendal can't help but think that the woman he has faithfully followed the last few months is walking straight into a trap. And there's nothing he can do to stop her from walking right into it.
1. Chapter 1

"Your follower cannot accompany you here."

Mercer Frey's words cut through Faendal like a knife. He looked to his leader; surely he wouldn't be expected to remain behind like some poorly paid citadel guard.

She just smiled. "It's alright," Joi said, her maroon eyes warm, assuaging his fears, if only for a short time.

"But—" he protested, Joi cut him off.

"—I have Mercer with me, we'll be fine. Besides, we're only going in to get Karliah. Stay out here and guard our backs, make sure nothing sneaks up on us." He gave her a weak smile, knowing she only said that so he wouldn't worry.

"You go on ahead," Faendal said, shifting on one foot, hoping he disguised his anxiety well enough. Like always, Joi saw through it.

"Hey,"she held his arms, forcing him to look at her. "I'll be fine. I don't plan on dying today—or any day soon. Relax; I'll be back before you can miss me."

Faendal wasn't convinced. "What if you need me in there?" he asked, remembering the time Joi had gotten herself backed into a corner surrounded by half a dozen draugr. More than once.

Joi pulled something out of her pack and handed it to him. "The—the Axe of Whiterun," he breathed. "But this is—"

Joi winked at him. "A little motivation to come back," she clarified. "I've got Dawnbreaker. Those draugr won't know what hit them." She patted the sheathed sword at her side, a gift from the daedra, Meridia, for cleansing her temple of the necromancer, Malkoran.

Mercer cleared his throat impatiently. "This is touching, but we need to move now. We can't give Karliah anymore time. As it is, we have no idea what she's set up for us."

"You're right," Joi said, following Mercer to the door. She turned back once more toward Faendal. "Take good care of that Axe, you hear? I'll need it when I get back."

She gave him a last cheeky grin, then the door slammed shut and Faendal was left alone with nothing but the Axe in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

_What in Divines' name is she thinking?_ Faendal thought, pacing back and forth in the circular tomb. Several times he nearly opened the door to head after them, but caught himself at the last moment.

They were a team, always watching each others' backs. They were companions. More than that, they were friends.

Sure, Joi hadn't gone alone, she had Mercer Frey with her. Faendal had no doubt that the Guild Master would be more than capable of protecting her; he had proven his skills earlier when a troll had attacked them, but even then, Faendal didn't trust him. Or anyone else in the Guild for that matter, they were always getting Joi into trouble. Goldenglow had nearly killed both of them!

Even with all of her experience, the Bosmer couldn't help but think the Dragonborn had gotten herself into more than she could handle.

_Which is exactly the reason I should be at her side!_ he thought heatedly.

Even though he thought Joi was wrong, Faendal knew he would listen to her. She had told him to stay put, so he would . . . but the waiting, Divines above, the waiting was killing him! He would scout out Karliah's camp.

No harm in that, right?

* * *

He sat in the shelter, staring into the flames, much like Joi liked to do on the rare occasion they weren't on some farfetched quest. Faendal liked to watch the Dunmer think; unlike most women he knew, even Camilla, Joi's mind was as sharp as her blade.

Faendal's hand drifted to the Axe, resting on its hilt. As a personal gift from Jarl Balgruuf when Joi was made Thane, the Axe of Whiterun was nearly priceless, it also happened to be Joi's favorite war axe. But against a draugr—and there would be plenty in these Nordic ruins—Dawnbreaker would be of much more help. Sighing, Faendal rested his head on his hands.

He sent a silent prayer to any gods who were listening—Talos or otherwise, he didn't care anymore.

It was going to be a long night . . .


	3. Chapter 3

Getting impatient, Faendal began drumming his fingers on his knee. After three months of traveling with the Dragonborn, he had gotten used to the nearly constant rush of adrenaline, and he missed it sorely. It was different than their nights spent at a tavern. Now, he knew Joi was probably in the heat of battle while he waited outside like some obedient pup.

After ten minutes, the silence was deafening, he wished for something—anything to break the tension. His wish was granted a few moments later as one Skyrim's infamous blizzards swept through.

Not exactly what I was thinking, he grumbled, throwing more wood on the fire and reaching into his pack for a bear pelt to keep warm, his fingers brushed against an official looking letter, which he pointedly ignored. Now, there was nothing else he could do but wait. So he did.

Faendal waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

As the blizzard died down, he heard the faintest creak of an opening door. Without wasting a moment, Faendal was up and running back to the crypt's entrance. He felt a rush of disappointment when he saw Mercer ascending the stone stairs. Alone.

"Where's Joi?" Faendal demanded, bow prepared to rush in after her.

Mercer paused for a moment, then said gruffly, "She's dead."

* * *

Well? What do you think, huh? Better than the last one? I think so at least.


	4. Chapter 4

"No—" Faendal reeled back in shock. "H—How?" he managed to choke out.

"Karliah had set an ambush. Shot her before she could take more than a few steps into the sanctuary. Died before I could heal her."

"And—and Karliah?"

"Disappeared before I could kill her," Mercer said. "Took an invisibility potion and ran, the coward."

Faendal felt a headache coming on. Joi. Dead. It couldn't be true. But the look in Mercer's eyes told him it was . . .

Joi really was dead.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad to see she had such loyal friends," Mercer said tenderly, but the words sounded strange coming from his mouth. False even. "She'll be waiting for us in Sovengarde."

Faendal didn't bother to mention that Bosmer—or Dunmer for that matter—didn't believe in Sovengarde, but Joi deserved the best, even in the afterlife; instead, he nodded wordlessly.

Mercer clapped him on the shoulder and headed off toward Rifton. Faendal watched him go, an odd sense of loss eating at his chest.

* * *

Faendal stood there, staring at the doorway where he had last seen Joi. With her gone, would he just head back to the mill in Riverwood? It would be almost impossible to pick up the pieces of his old life. What would he do?

What could he do?

A stone door slid open behind him; he had an arrow nocked and ready to fly before he recognized the figure being supported—almost dragged—by the other Dunmer, a crimson stain rapidly growing on her abdomen. His heart skipped a beat.

_Joi_.


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Faendal asked tersely as they set Joi on Karliah's bedroll.

"We can sit here and talk about what happened or we can save her," she answered curtly. "Now, help me get her armor off."

Faendal produced a dagger and quickly sliced through Joi's Guild armor. She would kill him for that when she came to her senses.

_If_, a small voice said. No. He crushed that rebellious thought. When she woke up. _When_.

Karliah trickled a healing potion onto the wound. Faendal stood nearby, waiting to see if he could help in any way. After several minutes, she stepped back, tucking a escaped strand of air into her hood.

"That's all I can do for now."

"Will it be enough?" Faendal asked anxiously.

Karliah cast a worried glance at the sleeping Dragonborn, her usually dark gray skin ashen. "It'll have to be."

* * *

"F—Faendal?" Joi asked sluggishly, breaking him from his trance.

"You're alright!" he exclaimed joyfully. "How do you feel?"

"Like I was shot with a poisoned arrow and stabbed," she said.

Faendal cracked a smile. "That seems about right." Then he grew serious. "You should have let me come with you," he reprimanded.

Joi closed her eyes and her lips quirked. "Where would the fun have been in that?" she remarked humorously.

"You wouldn't have almost died!" Faendal objected.

"Such is the life of the Dragonborn," she lamented with a smirk. "Destined to almost die daily. Makes for quite the adrenaline rush."

"This is serious!"

Joi sighed, and spotted Karliah. She moved to get up, stumbling over a wave of nausea before she could even take a step.

Karliah steadied her. "Easy, easy. Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?"

"How do you think I'm feeling? You shot me!" Joi accused heatedly.

"No," Karliah corrected. "I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"What? W-why?" Joi asked, stunned. "Why would you save me?"

"My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death."

"Then . . . I'm in your debt," Joi replied.

"More than you'll ever realize," Karliah responded modestly. "The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect. I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped to do was capture Mercer alive."


	6. Chapter 6

They stumbled into the Frozen Hearth, more than half frozen themselves.

"We'd like two rooms please," Faendal said wearily, keeping a steadying hand on Joi's back, she was just as exhausted as he was, if not more. He could hardly wait to have a tankard of mead and a warm bed.

Dagur didn't look up from the flagon he was polishing. "We only have the one left."

Faendal sighed: Joi needed to sleep, and Divines' knew they had gold to spare.

"Fine," he said, praying that this wasn't as bad of an idea as he thought it would be. He slid ten septims onto the counter. "We'll take it."

* * *

Faendal gently set Joi on the bed, removing the iconic Thieves Guild straps from her armor. Joi murmured something and turned over, falling asleep once again. He sat at the table and removed his boots, not daring to fully relax yet. The wood elf dutifully kept an eye on Joi, her breathing steady and even. It had bothered him more than he wanted to admit, but Faendal was growing attached to the Dragonborn. A dangerous occupation at best.

His thoughts drifted back to the letter in his bag, but he shoved away those disturbing memories. The ones he had locked deep in his mind, that he wanted to forget. The ones that—if they ever came out—would destroy him . . . and Joi.

He couldn't let that happen. Just the thought of Joi, broken and afraid, gave him the extra energy needed to lock those memories far, far away.

It was well into the night when he finally allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes. Joi would be fine—she could protect herself; but she needed someone to watch her back, to defend the little spark that was ignited the first day in Whiterun, when she faced that dragon—to protect the lives of the guards behind her, to protect their families, their people—alone.

Faendal had sworn he would protect that flame, that little piece of dragonfire. With his last breath if necessary, whether it be in this world . . . or the next.

He let Sleep take him in her warm embrace.


	7. Chapter 7

Joi woke, warm for the first time since they had left Whiterun. The one thing she hated most about Skyrim was how cold it always seemed to be. She opened her eyes, greeted with the familiar sight of a room in the Frozen Hearth.

Faendal was sitting at the table in the room, his head resting on his arm in what seemed like a rather uncomfortable position. Joi smiled and gently draped the blanket over his shoulders. He hummed in his sleep, stirring softly as she tiptoed out of the room.

"Morning, Dagur," Joi said cheerfully.

"Mm," he grunted in greeting. That was about as friendly as he got. All things considered, she probably deserved it, magical comets flying around scaring the living daylights out of people had partially been her fault. She _had_ found the Eye of Magnus that had caused Ancana to finally lose his cool.

_Not that he didn't have it coming to him, _she thought. Even after he had paralyzed Tolfdir and tried to kill her, she still felt pity for the Altmer mage. Pity that he had never found peace, or a reason to live outside the clutches of the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. Pity that the talent he possessed had been wasted on revenge and greed.

Joi shivered self-consciously and bought some leftover horker loaves, two apples and a fresh bottle of nord mead for breakfast, munching thoughtfully on the sweet red fruit while she stared into the fire, patiently waited for her companion to awaken.


	8. Chapter 8

When he first saw her, she was a Dunmer fugitive coming from Helgen wearing singed, mismatched Imperial armor, and asking too many questions.

She was an outlander, more out of place in the small town than he himself was, smelling of fire and fear.

It was her look of complete confusion and isolation that prompted him to say, "Greetings, sister elf, it's good to see a familiar face so far from home."

She blinked, searching his face for a glimmer of recognition. "Do I . . . know you?" she asked hesitantly.

Something about her seemed off—familiar, but he merely smiled. "No, but it is comforting to know I am not the only mer here."

"Oh," she shuffled her feet, fidgeting with the studs on her armor. "Um . . . do you know where I can buy fresh supplies? I don't have a lot of gold, but . . . " she faded off, looking at the ground, blushing madly.

"There's the Riverwood Trader across from the blacksmith. Lucan may seem harsh, but his prices are fair."

He paused for a moment. "If you're heading that way, would you give Camilla this letter, and say it's from Sven?"

The dark elf smiled timidly as she took the offered letter, their fingers brushing. His strong and calloused from his work in the mill, hers trembling slightly as she pocketed the letter and headed toward the Vallerius' shop, eyes wide and alert the entire time.

What on earth could have frightened her so badly?

She returned several hours later, with newly forged leather armor and news of Camilla's newfound detest for the bard.

"Thank you," Faendal said gratefully, he handed her a small coin purse. "Here, it's not much—Just a little money I've saved from working at the mill. I want you to have it." He knew it wasn't much, but her eyes widened.

"Thank you," she breathed, already thinking of the supplies she could buy once in Whiterun. They said their goodbyes and Faendal was already walking away when she called after him.

"What do you know of Bleak Falls Barrow?"

Faendal took a moment to reply, his voice grave. "I know enough about it that I would never go there alone, or after dark. Why?"

She looked away hurriedly. "I was just asked to get something from it, a golden claw. And I was wondering . . ." She fiddled with the hilt of her sword. "I wanted to ask if . . . If it wasn't inconvenient . . . If you would like to . . ."

"You wanted to ask if I would accompany you," he stated.

The dark elf paled slightly. "I wasn't trying to sound so brash, but I don't know anything about Skyrim's customs or her people or anything."

"Well, I do have my responsibilities at the mill . . ." She tried to hide it, but her face fell. " . . . But, I guess a few days won't hurt. I'll accompany you through the barrow and then safely to Whiterun."

The relief and gratitude in her eyes was immediate. Did all Dunmer wear their hearts on their sleeves such as this one?

"Thank you," she said again.

"I didn't catch your name," Faendal commented as they left Riverwood.

"It's . . . Joi," she said nervously.

"That's an odd name for a Dunmer." The unspoken question was obvious.

"I—I can't remember my name," she mumbled, eyes downcast. "I woke up this morning with no memories, on a cart bound for Helgen . . . and my execution, for something I had no part in, no memory of."

Joi sucked in an apprehensive breath, obviously she hadn't wanted to share that and said in one, babbling breath, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to say something like that and I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable and I didn't mean to say something so personal. I just wanted someone to come with me because I just needed a companion and I wasn't trying to be rude but it just sorta' came out and—"

"It's fine," Faendal reassured. He hadn't known somebody could talk that fast.

"I'm sorry," she said again almost hysterically. "I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not," Faendal heartened quickly. "I apologize for asking."

Joi gave him a small, grateful smile. "I'm the one who chose to tell you." She let out a wry chuckle. "You're the first person I've actually had a chance to talk to."

"It's refreshing isn't it?" he said.

She gave him her first genuine smile. "Yes. Yes it is."

"Well, Joi," Faendal said. "Now that we're properly acquainted, are you ready for another adventure?"

Just like that, the smile vanished.

"No," she replied seriously. "The last one nearly killed me. Twice." Technically it had been more than that if you wanted to count the Imperials that had tried to kill her, the dragon, and the impending doom of her execution.

"Then you're almost as experienced as I am," he joked. The ruins of Bleak Falls Barrow came into view, the crumbling columns looking like dry, broken ribs.

The dark elf glared at him. "Let's try not to break that record."

An arrow whizzed past them, burying itself at their feet.

"_Too late_," he sang, already loosing an arrow of is own. He charged up the steps, leaving Joi to follow after him.

"Stupid elf," she growled, though grinning. She drew her sword and rushed after him.

Faendal opened his eyes with a start, slipping off the chair and landing with a thump on the floor. For a moment he could've sworn he was still at the barrow, but the he recognized his surroundings.

The Frozen Hearth. He breathed a sigh of relief. They would be safe now. From her secrets and his.


	9. Chapter 9

Faendal shuffled from their room and sat across from Joi. She grinned at him, sliding the other horker loaf and the bottle of mead. He nodded his thanks, taking a sip of the refreshing drink. He never understood why Joi wouldn't touch mead or wine. Whenever he asked, she would merely reply with a thin lipped smile and, "I've had a bad experience with it." Whatever that meant. It's not like she had a run in with a daedra or anything.

"We're supposed to meet Enthir here, right?"

He nodded. "He's downstairs . . . supposedly."

She gave him a knowing—almost amused stare. "I know you don't care for the Guild, but I have to help Karliah. You have a home, I don't know where my home is but I've had friends; I've made my own here, but Karliah has been on the run for _twenty-five years_. If that's not cause enough to help her, I'm open to suggestions."

Faendal blinked in surprise. "I—didn't know it meant that much to you." He swirled the mead around inside the bottle, Joi threw the apple core into the fire where it crackled and hissed before letting off a pleasant roasting apple scent; Dagur gave her a dirty look.

"So, why Joi?"

" . . . What?" she asked, the question catching her completely off guard.

"You could have chosen any name," he continued. "Why choose 'Joi'?"

"Oh," she seemed to draw back into herself. "Everyone was so solemn and hopeless as we were led to our deaths, I took the name of what I thought the world needed, the overseer just spelled it wrong." Joi took a self-conscious bite from her second apple.

Faendal recognized her dismissal and changed the subject.


End file.
